beer

People often ask me why I’m a Redskins fan, and although I often ask myself that same question, the answer is really quite simple. When I met Dr. Fiance nearly eight years ago, she told me that she was a big football fan. I never really minded the sport, but I never really paid it much attention either. She immediately went to work on her campaign to get me to like football. I was a little meh about the whole thing, but then she divulged a key piece of information that for some reason I hadn’t put together before: watching football means that you get to sit in a bar on a Sunday afternoon and drink beer and eat hotwings to your heart’s content … all in the pursuit of rooting for your favorite football team. Beer! Hotwings! Huzzah!

Remember lunchtime in grade school, middle school and high school? That 45 minute hour of minimally-supervised trauma that happened every day at 11:05am? Your social status could veer up and down every day – on the better days you were accepted at a popular table, only to be shunned the next for some minor tween-age infraction. To make matters worse, unless your mom sent food with you from home, you had to eat cafeteria food. And more than likely, you had to eat it on an industrial plastic lunch tray, segmented to keep your grey green beans from touching your greasy pizza, and to keep the milk carton from sliding onto the floor when the jocks pushed you around. Grim.